It's Raining Wizards
by LittleTee
Summary: Complete. A small collection of one shots focusing on various wizards, in honor of male appreciation month. Includes stories surrounding isolated moments in the lives of: Chauncey Oldridge, Pollux Black, Rolf Scamander and Angus Buchanan.
1. A Father's Love - CO (1342 - 1379)

**Disclaimer:** The Wizarding World of Harry Potter does not belong to LittleTee, (who shall henceforth be referred to as "The Author.") While the plot of this fanfiction, (henceforth to be referred to as the "Story,") is of The Author's creation, neither the characters nor the locations therein belong to The Author, as they belong to JK Rowling, with the exception of any characters or locations within this Story which have no representation in cannon-these original characters and locations are the property of The Author. This is a work of fiction produced for the single purpose of entertaining fans of Harry Potter, and no Copyright infringement is intended _._

 _ **Rating:**_ _T_

 **Submission for:** HSWW's November Event - Male Appreciation for level 4, entry 1: Chauncey Oldridge.

 **Task:** Write a story focusing on Chauncey Oldridge within 250-2,500 words.

 **Word count:** 574.

 **oooOOOooo**

Chauncey frowned as he administered another dose of the elixir he had just brew for his son, Simon. The dreadful Dragon Pox had gotten hold of his son. The green-and-purple streaks shooting from his toes up his legs and the pox ridden skin eliminated any lingering hope that Simon didn't have it. Chauncey thanked the Lord that even with the terrible stigma of being green for the rest of your life not it was not fatal like some sicknesses that seem to terrorize both magical and non-magical realms of God's Earth. That was one miracle.

He just hated seeing his son hurt, and there was always the nagging dread in the pit of his soul that the young did not have the same strength as adults. A case of the snuffles could prove disastrous for a babe while only be a mild nuisance for a grown man. If there was anyway Chauncey could take anyway or transfer the illness to himself to give his child health and peace, he would do it in a heartbeat.

Silently he prayed for Simon as he mopped his young child's feverish forehead. He prayed that whatever the child had done wrong would be transferred onto him. Not to take his son from him, but if need be for him to be taken.

For the following six nights Chauncey continued to play family healer for his younger son. Alternating between ministering elixirs, applying cool, damp compresses, and feeding him soup and drink. It was times like this he missed Mary. She had been his love, his life, and his wife. She had past when delivering Simon. Five long years ago.

"Rest son. Rest." he told Simon halting the boy from his attempt at trying to sit. Seeing the tiredness and desire to escape his sick bed brought new hope for Chauncey.

"When?" Simon cloaked, his mouth still parched even though he had just drank both a bowl of broth and a goblet full of juice.

"Not to long from now," Chauncey answered as he flicked his wand and uttered several charms. One to open the windows. Two to clean and send the bowl and goblet back into their proper place. And, lastly one tied to his wand that would signal him if his son's state worsened any.

With a light kiss to his son's brow he left. Reminding the boy to sleep. To rest.

Later that night Chauncey awoke coughing and fighting for breathe. His limps felt heavy and he felt afire. After downing some mead to quench his thirst and to extinguish the fiery burning that plagued his throat, he uncovered his feet and paused. As he suspected green-and-purple streaks were beginning to etch themselves upwards from his toes. He had caught it. Even though he not stepped foot out of the cottage or interacted with any dragons.

Flashes of his prayer came rushing back to him and he sighed. This was his fate it seemed. He summoned Pixie, his late wife's house-elf, and order it to look after Simon and to check in on him. He had had Dragon Pox before, although back while he was in Hogwarts, and he knew what to expect. If it was the Lord's will then he would live through this. If not...

He shook his head and regretted the action immediately.

He would not focus on the bad, he reminded himself as he allowed slumber to overcome him.

 _Fini_

 **Author's Note:** This was not what I had in mind when I first set off to write about Chauncey Oldridge, but I'm not unhappy with the ending result. So, yeah.

Little is known about Chauncey except for the approximate year he died and that he was the first wizard to die from Dragon Pox. Also, there isn't a lot of medical information available about Dragon Pox, so I utilize some basic pathophysiology principles while writing this. The main one being that the virus probably mutated and could now transfer from human-to-human contact instead of dragon-to-human contact.


	2. Fatherhood - PB (1912 - 1990)

**Disclaimer:** See first section for full disclaimer. In short, I do not own any rights to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter and this is a work of fanfiction. Written and shared for fun and not profit.

 **Rating:** K+ (just to be safe)

 **Warning:** Implied past underage intimate relationship between two teenagers.

 **Submission for:** HSWW's November Event - Male Appreciation for level 4, entry 2: Pollux Black.

 **Task:** Write a story focusing on Pollux Black within 250-2,500 words.

 **Word count:** 541.

 **oooOOOooo**

"Mister Black."

Pollux looked up from his revisions to see his Head of House standing. No readable emotions evident on his wrinkled features. Pollux forced himself to loosen his grip on his quill and placed it down and waited. His heart beating for what news the elderly wizard might have for him. Images of Irma suffering from childbed fever threatened to over take his rational senses before he mentally rebuke them. Irma was fine. Had to be fine.

"My I be the first to congratulate you on the birth of your daughter."

"And Irma?"

"She is doing quite well I hear, and she has asked to see you. That is partly way I'm here."

Pollux took the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. Irma was fine and he was now a father. He wondered briefly what one was suppose to do in polite wizarding society when they archived fatherhood as he accepted the small portkey from the professor and was transported to the London townhouse in Islington.

"Pollux? Is that you?" Irma's tired voice called from her bed as her husband of almost nine months entered.

"Yes Irma. It's me." Pollux automatically replied as he made his way to her side. Their daughter was resting peacefully at Irma's breast. Reaching out he gently took hold of Irma's nearest hand. Interweaving their fingers. "She's beautiful."

"Yes," Irma agreed, "and she has a strong cry. Madam Potts, the midwife healer, told me that is a good sign. A loud cry."

Pollux grinned and found he was quite content to stand there by his wife and their daughter, but he knew he only had a few minutes to spare before he would be required to head back to Hogwarts and his studies. So, he broke the comfortable silence by asking Irma if she had decided on a name since they had last talked a few weeks ago, during Yule break.

"No," she admitted as she looked lovingly down at her first child, "I was waiting for you. I have never been good with astronomy."

He squeezed Irma's hand gently. She spoke the truth. Beside identifying the moon, sun and earth she could not find any star or planet. It was probably for the best that she had waited for him.

"Walburga Irma Black." he finally declared after a second of hesitation on her middle name.

"Walburga?" Irma paused, frowning.

"In honor of Walpurgis Night."

"Oh."

Pollux enjoyed the slight blush that colored his wife's checks and grinned. That high sabbath and feast night between April and May was when they had conceived Walburga and had officially enacted their marriage contact that their parents had signed for them years before.

"Also," Pollux added as he brushed a lock of hair behind his wife's ear, "there is an asteroid that shares that name."

Irma laughed and shook her head. "And here I thought you were forsaking your family's tradition of naming your children after heavenly bodies for pure sentimental reasons."

"Never my dear. Never." he grinned.

"Of course how silly of me." she grinned back.

"Toujours pur," they echoed in unison as they fondly, playfully kissed each other.

 _Fini_

 **Author's Note:** Pollux Black lived between 1912 – 1990 and again little is known about him besides that he was roughly 13 years old when Walburga was born. Yep, that's right 13. And, that it appears he didn't resume living at 12 Grimmauld Place after his daughter's death, for some reason.

*Toujours pur is the House of Black's motto which means, "Always Pure."


	3. A Change Encounter - RS (c1970s - )

**Disclaimer:** See first section for full disclaimer. In short, I do not own any rights to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter and this is a work of fanfiction. Written and shared for fun and not profit.

 **Rating:** T

 **Submission for:** HSWW's November Event - Male Appreciation for level 4, entry 3: Rolf Scamander.

 **Task:** Write a story focusing on Rolf Scamander within 250-2,500 words.

 **Word count:** 554.

 **oooOOOooo**

"Just a little closer," Rolf Scamander breathed as he saw the creature he had been waiting for move into his camera's range. With a satisfying click he captured photographic proof that their extinction had been wrongly reported. Being believed to be lost to the world since the turbulent Dark Ages, centuries ago.

Rolf lend back, resting his back on the bark of the tall tree as he watched the mythical creature lazily yap up the water from the enchanted spring nestled beneath him. It was rather captivating.

"Look father a Heliopath."

"Careful Luna. They are a fire beast."

Rolf blinked and looked down to try to find the source of the voices. He had his wand out and had already cast a lowering charm on himself when he saw a petite blonde slowly inch closer to the Heliopath, which was lunacy. Pure lunacy.

He had set down just a few inches away from the girl and was about to whisper for her to stop when the Heliopath looked up from the waterhole, clearly startled and alarmed to have two humans within a yard of it. Acting out of instinct Rolf grabbed Luna and apparated away just before the fiery horse charged.

They reappeared a few yards away and Rolf watched as the Heliopath's rampage set whatever foliage was close on fire in its wake.

"Thank you. For saving me."

Rolf realized he had yet to release his hold on the girl and quickly rectify his oversight.

"Um, you're welcome." he mentally kicked himself for his traitorous tongue. He had planned on giving her a right earful for being so reckless approaching a dangerous animal like a Heliopath, but when his eyes had met hers his mind shut down, and his jeans tightened.

"Luna?! Luna are you alright? Where are you?"

"I'm over here. I'm alright." she called back to her father but her mesmerizing eyes never left Rolf's. "I'm Luna Lovegood."

Lovegood. Where had he heard that name before.

"Rolf Scamander."

Luna cocked her head and grinned. "You follow your grandfather footsteps well."

He blinked. "Thank you," he lamely said as Luna's father joined them.

"Father this is Rolf Scamander. Rolf my father, Xenophilius Lovegood."

Rolf bowed slightly and accepted Mr. Lovegood's handshake. As he shook hands with the older wizard his mind finally made the connection where he had heard the Lovegood name before. The alternative wizarding news source, the Quibbler.

Rolf reluctantly bid farewell to Luna and her father. Not once thinking about his equipment or camera till he had returned to his camp. When he raced back to the tree he had been using as a observation stand all that was left of his hard work and countless hours of time was ashes. The tree had caught on fire from the Heliopath and with it his camera and the photographic evidence needed to prove that Heliopaths were still alive, albeit very rare

Surprisingly, however, he couldn't find himself to blame Luna. He wanted to but couldn't. This was not like him. Had he been hit with some hex? He hoped not. Looking once more at the charred ruins of the tree he began walking back to his tent. Cursing Luna's enchanting eyes, lovely voice and his sense of heroism all the way.

 _Fini_


	4. Against All Odds - AB (1847 - 1927)

**Disclaimer:** See first section for full disclaimer. In short, I do not own any rights to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter and this is a work of fanfiction. Written and shared for fun and not profit.

 **Rating:** K

 **Submission for:** HSWW's November Event - Male Appreciation for level 4, entry 4: Angus Buchanan.

 **Task:** Write a story focusing on Angus Buchanan within 250-2,500 words.

 **Word count:** 455.

 **oooOOOooo**

Angus gulped as he fell behind the crowd of first-years. Hamish, Flora and the rest of his siblings had all in one way another disobeyed all shorts of rules and regulations to get him here. To allow him a chance to prove that he was a wizard. A means to escape his father's wrath and the loss of his family. The old castle made him feel uneasy.

Then he was waiting as names were called. Hamish had gone over the sorting ceremony repeatedly and Angus knew he would only have one chance. That he would have to take someone's spot. But, surely after being sorted he could plead the professors to add his correct name to the roll. That him not receiving a genuine acceptance letter had been a bad oversight.

Seeing his chance he took the stool and placed the hat on his head, accidentally knocking the girl who had been called down in his haste. This was it. His moment of truth. In a manner of seconds he would be sorted into one of the four houses.

The hat was muttering something before falling silent.

"Quite irregular. Quite."

"What is?" Angus asked the hat. Dread beginning to take over fully.

"You are not a wizard, my boy."

What? No. Please no. He had bought a wand and was sneaked in on the back of his brother's broomstick. Why couldn't it just place him in a house. Any house.

"Please Mister Sorting Hat try again. I _have_ to be a wizard."

"I've tried three times already child." it paused. "I'm sorry." it added before declaring in a loud voice. "Angus is _a good-hearted chap, but no wizard._ "

With those words Angus was marked an outsider. An outcast. Alone.

He numbly got off the stool and allowed himself to be ushered over to a side room off the Great Hall. Tears coming down freely now. The commotion of the professors, students and first-years talking among themselves was just a loud roaring to his ears. He had failed.

What would he do now? What was to become of him? Would he be disowned? He laughed. Of course he would be.

"Angus?"

He looked up as he saw his older sister, Flora, come rushing in from the hall. Before he could reply he found himself in a fierce hug. He found her Prefect's badge was hard and uncomfortable but he didn't dare say anything about it as he returned her hug. Thankful that he could at least count on his sister.

Then Hamish and the rest of his brothers and sisters, excluding Mary and James who weren't old enough for Hogwarts yet, came busting through the connecting door and joined them.

 _Fini_

 **Author's note:** Angus Buchanan, unlike the previous wizards, has quite a lot of information concerning him. Being the only non-wizard to have made it to the sorting ceremony and managing to publish a memoir that was accepted in the wizarding world later in his life. He was also a real person (or based off a real person I should probably say) that become quite famous in the Muggle world for his Rugby achievements. This was just one telling of his fateful sorting back in 1858.


End file.
